Maybe That's Why Dallas Was So Bitter
by The Devil Inside Jin
Summary: Ponyboy wasn't sure why Dallas was so bitter, but he had his ideas. But here's what really happened, and now you can know the truth. WARNINGS: child abuse, domestic violence, made-up names (because S.E Hinton never said), and teeny-weeny hint to Ponyboy/Dally in the very last two sentences.


Maybe That's Why Dallas Was So Bitter

**.:.:A/N—So I'd been thinking after reading ****_the Outsiders_**** for the billionth time what might've happened to make Dally so mean. I love Dally a lot, and I wanted to give him a good reason for being a hard-ass bad boy. So, here it be! Please tell me what you think, but remember, nothing nice to say then don't say it at all!—END A/N:.:.**

"Mama! Mama!" Dallas shouted as he ran into the living room.

Priscilla turned around to face her son, "Yes, Dally?" She was the only person who called him Dally. His father thought it sounded stupid but Dally loved the sound of it.

"Guess what today is! Guess, guess!" He smiled up at his mother's warm, smiling face.

"Oh...don't make it so hard on me Dally! Give me a hint, will ya?" His mothers, long, brown hair fell over to one side of her as she bent down to be on the same level as her son. His mother's hair was thick and straight at the top, and it delicately curled at the ends. He'd always loved his mother's warm, smiling face, her lips naturally red as a poppy and her eyes the color of warm honey, with flecks of gold and amber.

"Okay, I'm seven! Can you guess now?"

"Hmm...Nope." She shrugged, smiling like the sun at her pride and joy.

"Mama!" Dally complained, knowing his mother knew the truth.

"Oh! It's your birthday! Happy birthday, Dally!"

"Thanks, Mama!"

"Hmm...oh what's this on the counter?" She pointed to a box wrapped in a big red bow.

"Is it my birthday present? Is it, is it?"

She handed it to him. "I guess you'll just haveta have a looksee-daisy, won't you?"

He tore open the box and looked inside. It was a squirt-gun, something he'd always wanted but he father said he couldn't have. "Yay! Thanks so much, Mama!"

"You're welcome, my love. Your cake should be ready, but don't tell your father I gave you a gun. If he asks, tell him I gave you money to pick something, okay?" She winked.

"Okay, Mama." He winked back.

"Oh, and one more thing," She handed him a $20 bill.

"Yay!"

"Now you won't be lying, will you?"

The door tumblers turned and Richard was home.

"Hurry, Dally! Go to your bedroom and hide the squirt-gun under your mattress, okay?"

"Okay, Mama!" He ran into his room.

"Hello, Dear." Priscilla greeted from the kitchen.

"Hey. What's for dinner?" Richard sighed, exhausted.

"Whatever Dally wants."

"Why does the kid get what he wants?"

"Because it's his birthday, Richard."

"Oh. Right."

Dally listened from the doorway of his room. Daddy forgot?

"You can't remember the day your own son was born?"

"I try to forget sad moments in my life."

"Richard!"

Dally felt tears in his eyes. He'd hear his father say he didn't want him all the time, but not on his birthday...not when he wanted to be happy.

"Priscilla, all Dallas is is another mouth to feed and it's sickening! All he's gonna do is be some hoodlum who's no good and dies by a gunshot from some cop!"

"Dally is a smart boy and he's got his whole life ahead of him!"

"Why do you call him that? We named him Dallas! Not Dally!"

"He likes to be called Dally! And why would it matter to you? All he is to you is a bump on a log!"

And then Dallas heard a smacking sound. He knew what had happened, that his father had hit his mother, but for a moment he pretended that he was deaf and he didn't hear it. He didn't hear that he'd just another mouth to feed, or that he's destined to be a hoodlum. He couldn't have heard that. His father didn't say that.

Dallas's father was a six feet three tax collector who spent all his money on booze. He had dark-dirty-blonde hair and cold, menacing blue eyes. Colder than ice. His voice was the same, cold and scary, and he didn't want children. He hated children. He hated Dally.

Dally decided to go into the kitchen to help his mother. "Mama! Mama, are you okay?"

She was on her knees when Dallas came in and she nodded, holding her son in a hug. "Mama's okay, Dally."

"Dallas!" His father made him and his mother flinch, "bring me the gift your mother gave you."

"She just gave me money, Daddy."

"Give me the money."

"Richard, it belongs to him." Priscilla said cooly.

"No one asked you, Priscilla. Dallas, the money. Now."

"But Mama said—"

"BOY!" He slapped Dally, right on the side of his face, "Do what I told you!"

"Yes, Daddy, I'm sorry!" Dally ran to his room and took the $20 from under his pillow.

Richard snatched the money from his son and put it into his wallet. "Now go to your room and don't come out until I tell you. And I mean it."

"But I have to pee..."

"Do it in a cup."

Dally walked back over to his own room, rubbing the side of his head.

He never left that room until the afternoon of the next day.

…  
(5 Months Later)

"Dallas! Get your fucking shit together and get in this living room NOW!"

Dally scurried into the living room.

"Where did you get this?" Richard asked. He held out the squirt-gun.

Dally got a lump in his throat. He knew if he told the truth, his Mama would get in trouble.

Priscilla, despite this, jumped off the couch, "Richard, I gave it to him."

Richard stared at his wife in disbelief, before raising his hand to hit her.

"NO!" Dally yanked his father's arm back, "Don't do it! Don't hit her, Daddy! Hit me! Hit me!" He cried.

Richard threw his son off of him and belted Priscilla a good three times.

"NO! Stop, daddy! STOP!" He cried. He tugged his father back again, and Richard pushed him off and yanked open the door.

"Get out!" He screamed to Dallas.

"But Daddy..."

"LEAVE!"

"No, Richard, don't!" Priscilla grabbed a good hold of Dally and hugged him close.

Richard pulled his son away from his wife's clawing hands and threw him out the door, closing it tight and locking it.

"Daddy!" Dally shouted, banging on the door, "Daddy no!"

Priscilla was gallant, then. She stood up with all her strength and pushed Richard away, rushing out the open window to her son.

Dally was running down the street, away from the rabid neighbor's dog.

Priscilla rushed to her son, thinking quick snatched the lighter from the mailbox and chased after the dog and the kid, She slammed the lighter on the ground and it made a huge popping sound and a big flash, scaring the dog away. She grabbed hold of her sin and held him close, when there was a gunshot. She pushed Dallas away, and he reached for her but she fell backward, her lavender dress stained with red. She'd been shot.

Richard stood on the doorstep, cursing. He'd been aiming for Dally! He ran back into the house, before Dallas could see that he did it, and he opened the window, leading to the neighbor's backyard, wiped the gun clean of his fingerprints, and chucked it into their rusty old pool.

"Mama! Mama NO!" Dally screamed from the street. "Help! Help! Please! Somebody shot my Mama!" He was choked with sobs and flowing with tears.

Nobody came. Everyone watched the kid in the street from their windows and patios, Priscilla's sweet little boy. But nobody ever came.

Richard grabbed his son's arm and dragged the screaming boy back to his house.

"Mama! MAMA!" he cried as he was being dragged down the street. Police sirens sounded a couple blocks down.

Richard threw the kid on the sofa.

"Daddy, somebody killed Mama!"

"Somebody? It was YOU!"

"No, no Daddy, I didn't! The squirt gun wasn't real!"

"You ran away and your mother chased you and she got shot because of YOU! You killed Priscilla!"

Dally sobbed loudly and his father belted him. "Shut up! Murderer! I should kill you now!"

But the fuzz were outside, and there was no way he could get out of it. He figured making the kid live in false guilt was good enough.

But Dallas knew he didn't do it. He knew it. He didn't know who did, but he didn't.

He'd never let his father take advantage of him again. If you get tough you don't get hurt, right? Nothing could touch you. For Mama's sake, he had to. Priscilla's sweet little boy was dead now. He died when his Mama got shot in the street. He furrowed his brow. He'd been replaced by someone who only looked the same. Dallas Zachary Winston would no longer live the same.

…  
(3 Years Later)

"Mr. Richard Winston? We understand the child Dallas Winston is in your possession?"

"Yes," Richard shifted the phone. "What about him?"

"He's just been arrested for assault and possession of a switchblade. We need you to come retrieve him at the police station."

"Yes ma'am..." He hung up the phone and massaged his temples. His son is a JD, now.

Dallas was behind the bars they had set up in the station, swearing at the officers and woman at the front desk.

"Let me go! Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"

"Calm down, kid!" One of the officers standing guard shouted at Dallas. "What were you doing out past curfew, anyway?"

"I don't have to answer you, fuck-face!"

"Calm down how you talk to an officer!"

"Who's gonna make me? You? Hah, I've seen tougher guys at the ice-cream shop!"

"Dallas!" Richard shouted from the door.

"What, Richard?"m Dallas yelled back.

"I'm your father you wise-ass."

"No, you're not my father! You're a sad old man who beats me all the time, but it don't hurt nearly as much as it used to!"

"He's just talkin' smack." Richard assured the woman.

The officer let Dallas go and Richard grabbed his son firmly by the arm.

Dallas snatched his arm back and spat at Richard, and Richard slapped his son firmly at the side of the head.

After dragging a fiery Dallas out to the car and throwing him in, Richard locked the doors and drove off.

"Just who'd you assault?"

"One of your hoes, Rich."

"Don't make me turn this car around."

"I ain't scared of you! Face it, your time is up! You can't hurt me no more!"

"We'll see about that."

Dallas frowned and sat back. As he saw a train going by, knowing they were about a mile and a half away from the train station, he got an idea. Finally, all of this could be over. He unlocked his car door.

"What are you doing?" Richard asked.

Dallas didn't answer. He studied the street below them, waiting for the right moment. He looked up, the sign said _New York City Train Station Next Right_. He pushed open the door, tucking his legs in and rolled out of the car, into the grass, the force of the air pushing him right onto the next exit.

"Dallas!" Richard shouted, slamming down on the brakes and crashing into the car in front of him. The man who owned the car got out to yell at Richard and maybe beat him up, and Dallas watched for a second in triumph and ran for the train station.

And as a master of theft, he snatched his Dad's wallet, so maybe his Dad would even get arrested for unlicensed driving.

The 10-year-old walked into the train station and instantly felt small. He was the only lone kid in there, but he poked out his chest and held his head high at the strangers. No one would _ever_ take advantage of him. He walked right up to the counter.

"Hey lady," He addressed, "When's the next train outta here."

"It leaves in six minutes," She turned and cocked her brow at a little boy.

"Are your parents on that train?"

"If it's going to Hell," He stared at her.

She looked little shocked. "No, it's going to Oklahoma."

"My old man asked me to get him his ticket, since he's too lazy to get his own. He's leavin' on a business trip to Oklahoma City," the only place he knew in Oklahoma, "And he wanted to get the cheapest train."

"Well? Could I see your father's ID?"

He took out the wallet and handed it to the lady. His dad had probably gotten arrested by now. He handed it to her.

"Richard Winston? He looks like you."

"Don't ever say that again."

"Alright, sir, that'll be 15 dollars."

He looked in his dad's wallet and saw he had about six-hundred dollars in there. Glory, had he ever heard of a bank? He saw a twenty. That reminded him of the twenty his Mama gave him...and his father took. He yanked out the twenty, angry at that memory, and shoved it in the lady's direction.

She handed him a five and a ticket back and smiled. "Tell your father I said good luck."

"Maybe." Dallas walked off.

The train was boarding and he slipped into the crowd, making sure the lady didn't see him. He should be fine. The guy who drives the train never looks at the ticket anyway He had nothing to be worried about.

He sat down by himself and wondered how long this trip would take.

After maybe an hour, he was approached by a man. "Are you here by yourself?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing, I guess." The man sat down next to him. "If you are, I won't say nothin'."

"Who are you?" Dallas asked, scooting away a bit, just to be safe. He wanted to make sure that if he had to belt this guy, he'd have a good shot.

"Louis. Louis Curtis." He offered a hand.

Dallas stared at that hand a while and decided that he might be able to trust this guy. He made sure there was no knife, no gun with a quick check with his eyes, and he didn't smile like Louis did, he only shook his hand back. "Dallas Winston."

"What are you trying to do, out here all by yourself?"

"Get away from Richard."

"Who's Richard?"

"My old man."

"What'd he do that was so bad?"

"He gets kicks outta beating me, though it don't hurt no more."

"Oh..." Louis thought. That reminded him of Johnny Cade, a boy who lived a few houses down from him at home. His father beat him, but Johnny wasn't nearly as hard as this kid. Not the slightest bit. "How long has he been hittin' you?"

"Long time. Since I was five, that was when it started. Why am I sharing all this with you, anyways?"

"Because you trust me?" The man smiled.

"Maybe." Dallas shrugged. "I'unno. Maybe I just needed to tell somebody..."

"I'll never tell, if that's what you want."

Dallas looked at this man real hard. He was strange for a grown-up. All grown-ups told the first authority if a kid was out by himself, or getting hit by his dad, not even caring what the kid wanted. But Louis was different, alright. "Yeah, okay."

"What about your Mom?"

"Mama? She got shot."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Me too. My Dad thinks it's all my fault, 'cause she was tryin' to save me. I wish I'd gotten shot, though. What do I have to live for?"

"Dallas, I don't think it's your fault."

"How would you know?"

"I dunno. It's just not."

"Hm."

"How old are you, Dallas."

"Twenty-three."

Louis laughed. "Oh? You're real short for you age."

"Nah, I'm ten."

"I've got a son who's ten." he smiled, "And one's who's seven and another who's thirteen."

"What're you doing out here? You don't look New York."

He laughed. "I'm not. I came out here for a relative's funeral. I didn't have enough for my whole family to come."

"Oh."

"I live in Tulsa."

"That in Oklahoma?"

"Sure is."

"That explains a lot."

"Do you need someone to stay with, Dallas?"

Dallas looked at him. His eyes were warm and so was his smile...and that was a lot like... "Maybe...just 'til I can go on my lonesome."

"You're alone, right? All by yourself?"

"Yeah...the only thing I had back home was my gang."

"You were in a gang? I thought you said you were ten..."

Dallas grinned, then, a blank spot in his mouth where a baby tooth had gotten knocked out showing proudly. "I am."

…  
(Hours Later...)

Louis and Dallas became alright. Dallas trusted him enough to let him drive him to town.

His house was run-down and shabby, but it was a house and that was fine for Dallas. He was too paranoid to sleep on the train, so he stayed up the whole time and he was beat.

"Dallas," Louis said after a while. Three boys were behind him, "These are my sons."

Dallas eyed them closely. The tallest one looked at lot like Louis, the middle one was good-looking and blonde, and the shortest one was a gray (kinda green) eyes redhead.

"Hi!" the middle one shouted and took Dally by surprise.

The smallest one waved and the tallest one only smiled.

"Hi." Dallas said back, cocking a brow.

"I'm Sodapop," The blonde one greeted, "And this is Ponyboy."

"Darrel. But I go by Darry." The tallest one said.

"Those names are real?" Dallas asked. Besides Darrel, he'd never heard names like Sodapop and Ponyboy, unless they were street-names.

"Of course," Sodapop said.

Dallas shrugged. "Okay."

Ponyboy came up to Dallas. "So...your name is Dallas?"

"That's right."

"Do they ever call you Dally?"

Dallas stared at the boy. He hadn't been called that since his mother died...

"Yeah. I prefer it."


End file.
